


Where Rules Don't Apply

by twoshotrobot



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Choking, Dubious Consent, Gun Kink, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:41:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25480084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoshotrobot/pseuds/twoshotrobot
Summary: It's a bad omen when Seonghwa sees Hongjoong at the billiards bar.
Relationships: Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 1
Kudos: 45





	Where Rules Don't Apply

Being recognized meant he got drinks half off, got to play pool for free if there were enough empty tables. On a Tuesday night, there were. He played alone, against himself. Kept to the table closest to the window to make the reach for the bourbon on the windowsill easy.

The drunkards across the bar made conversation, talking overtop the 24-hour news cycle any time a hot button issue cropped up. The drink made them loose-lipped, eager to voice opinions ranging from delightfully uninformed to outright bigoted.

"What do you think, detective?" One of the drunkards laughed. He gestured his glass toward Seonghwa, spilling some of his drink.

Seonghwa had been pulling out pocketed balls when he was called on. "I wasn't listening. What happened?"

"That death by the docks that happened last week. God, I can't believe I don't remember his name. His trial went on for months."

"Song Mingi?" Seonghwa suggested, pulling slowly from each of the pockets while he was included in the conversation.

"Yeah, that's right." His hand gesture was so sloppy that Seonghwa couldn’t parse it. "What are the whispers around the office? A murder, or a suicide?"

Seonghwa grabbed the rack, setting up for the next game. "A suicide, definitely."

"Are you on this case?"

"I'm not a homicide detective."

"But you were involved in the case for his trial, right? You gotta know something."

"All I know are the facts. Besides, after how the trial went, they're not going to bother me with this kind of stuff." The entrance was in his line of sight when he racked up. He looked up when the door swung open, a movement he followed out of habit.

Shit.

"Hongjoong!" The bartender came out from behind the bar to take the other in a one-armed hug. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me."

"Not at all." It was the first time he heard the voice so clearly in person. None of the tapped recordings, not hearing it muffled through the walls of his vehicle. He sounded awfully affable in person, a softness in the breadth of his voice.

"You drinking tonight?"

"Yeah, sure." He took a look around the bar, eyes setting on Seonghwa. The stare was prolonged, at least for Seonghwa's liking, then it went back to the bartender. "Just a beer, something on tap."

As soon as he got his glass it went near-abandoned, left at the part of the bar surface closest to the pool tables as he approached. "You playing with someone?"

"No."

"You want to?"

"Sure. Eightball?"

"Works for me." Hongjoong smirked, grabbing a cue and using chalk. "Scratch rules?"

Seonghwa returned the smile, albeit forced. "Ball in hand."

"Alright. I'll break." He removed the rack, set it on its hanger, kept on the opposite side of the table as Hongjoong bent over it to break. Nothing was pocketed, but it spaced the balls out nicely.

Seonghwa went for a sip of bourbon before going for his next shot. "Nine. Right corner." He sank it. "Stripes." He looked over to watch Hongjoong looking at him, cue planted like a cane on which he leaned on. "Fifteen. Middle right." That shot was a near miss.

"What do you do?" Hongjoong rounded the corner, surveying his options. He indicated a stray four with his cue, then pointed to his pocket of choice.

"Shouldn't you ask my name first?"

Hongjoong laughed. He made his shot successfully. It set him up for his next one. "What are you, a detective or something?"

Seonghwa laughed, though it was humorless. Flattery didn't exist here, only anxious whitespace while he waited for Hongjoong to make his shot. He sank that one, too.

"I know you know who I am." He took a pause, lowered his voice and leaned over the table. “Park Seonghwa.”

To observe was to stay alive. He looked down, Hongjoong's collar was loose, and with him bent over the table it meant Seonghwa could see right down his shirt. The animal part of his brain glanced briefly at his chest, but then the rational saw the belt-holstered pistol. He sank another shot in the interim.

"You're good," Seonghwa said.

"Thanks." The next shot was lined up, comically easy. Hongjoong raised his brows at Seonghwa and bungled it. "Let's see you."

Called and sank. It was an easy shot, but put him effectively nowhere. While he surveyed the table, he glanced up at Hongjoong. "You always carry a gun on you when you go out to drink?"

"Only when I'm with friends."

Seonghwa nodded. "Hate to see what the enemies get."

He was in the midst of pulling back his arm for the shot when the next words stopped him mid-stroke. "Bet you wish you had yours right about now."

He recovered, pulled his arm back again as he realigned his aim. "I never leave the house without it."

"Show you mine if you show me yours." His eyes went to where Hongjoong lifted the hem of his shirt, exposing some of his stomach along with it.

Either the nerves or the euphemism caused him to miss his shot, and badly. He pocketed the eight ball. It was a sting of a loss to Hongjoong's mocking grin. He wanted another sip of bourbon, but there was no chance in hell he'd turn his back to Hongjoong. "Well, it's your win."

"I don't think I'm done with this game yet." Hongjoong bent again, this time to pull the eight ball from its pocket, placing it roughly where it'd been before. "The rules don't have to mean anything."

"Look." Seonghwa set his cue down. "I gotta get home. I got work early tomorrow."

"Relax, evening's just started. You live right across the street, don't you?" 

Looked like Seonghwa wouldn't be done any time soon. Slowly, he picked up his cue again, awaiting the next move.

Hongjoong called his shot. Then, "I knew you were assigned to Song Mingi."

Seonghwa didn't move a muscle when he heard the name. Hongjoong sank his shot in that time, motioned toward the next pocket he had in mind.

"That was even before you testified in his trial. He knew you'd been watching him. But you wanna know what I don't get, Park Seonghwa?" He pulled back his arm, another successful shot. "I don't get why you kept following him after the trial ended."

Another shot. "They found him in his car, a bullet between the eyes from his own gun. It'll probably be ruled as a suicide." Whatever was left of his smirk shifted outright to a scowl. "One of my own men, and I knew this man well."

"It's tragic. I'm sorry for your loss."

"Oh, spare me. They tried for months to get a conviction on him. There wasn't enough evidence. But I have a theory." He took a moment, standing the cue up to coat the tip in chalk. "I think someone with a vested interest was a little too upset at the results of the trial. Someone who had a lot of information. Someone who thinks rules are meaningless."

He was on his last solid, though held off on calling it, leaning his cue upright against the table. "And now you're following me, and I know you haven't been assigned to my case." 

Any of the pretense of humor had been drained by then. Seonghwa went for the gun in his holster. In turn, Hongjoong went for his. Both paused, looking at each other over the table, tension wrought in Seonghwa's jaw. Hongjoong's expression was even, but his fingers twitched toward his gun. Both hovered, but neither closed that distance.

"Fact of the matter is, Seonghwa, if you kill me now, you're dead before the sun even rises. Even if you can put the bullet in me first, we know where you live, we know where you work, we know where you like to spend your time." He nodded his head toward the table. "The game's almost finished, and I want to win."

“You already won." In a show of goodwill, Seonghwa relaxed his hand, returning it to the edge of the table.

"Then I'll win again." Hongjoong took hold of his cue again. "One, right corner pocket."

Seonghwa breathed in as the shot was made. For hongjoong, all that left was the eight ball. He didn't delay things any further, tapping by the pocket of choice before sinking another effortless shot. No gloating. No room for it. Hongjoong was looking at him directly, expression hard. Seonghwa looked back, stilled in wait of something, anything aside from Hongjoong’s steady blinking.

"You're taking me to your apartment. Finish your drink."

With morbid detachment, he couldn't shake the association of a last meal before his execution when he reached for his bourbon. He drank the remainder in a single, thick swallow. It burned on the way down.

The bartender gave his farewells to the both of them as he led Hongjoong out. Out of sight, out of earshot, he heard the rustle of clothing, the gun cocked, a bullet chambered as metal pressed itself to his lower back. “Walk.”

Reduced to a marionette, puppeted into his building and slowly up the stairs to his door. He unlocked it, Hongjoong following in behind him. He awaited instruction, but the man reached around his side, beneath his jacket to work the pistol out of its holster.

"Sit on the couch." Seonghwa nodded, both hands up as he seated himself.

It was a delicate sweep up from the barrel of the gun to Hongjoong’s eyes. He put both hands up, a show of surrender. "I didn't kill him."

Lot of good that did. "Bullshit." Hongjoong extended his arm, gunbarrel pressed flush to Seonghwa’s forehead, right between the eyes.

A second passed, or maybe a minute. In his mind, Seonghwa recited what he remembered of a prayer, mindful to keep the tremor moving up his leg still to not incite any suspicion of sudden movement.

"It's all bullshit." To his surprise, the arm relaxed some, creating space between Seonghwa’s face and metal. “Bullet’s too good for you, though. Strip.”

Seonghwa only stared. Too long, apparently. He was pistol-whipped upside the face, causing him to reel back from the sting. “Fuck.” He got his bearings, mustered everything he could into a, “Fuck you.”

“Just because I won’t put one in your head doesn’t mean I won’t put one somewhere else. You heard me. Take your clothes off.”

When Seonghwa's hands went for the buttons, Hongjoong smirked. Mirthless, quick to go back to its hard, expectant expression as buttons came undone. One by one, his eyes followed. Seonghwa pulled off his tank. “I gotta move up a bit to get my pants off,” he warned before he scooted forward to undo the buckle on his belt. His slacks came off easy after that. He hesitated at his boxers.

“All of it.” If not the command, the exaggerated raising of Hongjoong’s brows prompted Seonghwa to pull down the waistband of his boxers. "Get yourself hard."

Loud and clear as the instruction was, Seonghwa still held still until it really sank in, really registered. Then he touched himself, hand gripped loose around his soft cock. A weak tug.

"You're not going to get hard like that."

Seonghwa bit back a comment, but there was no need. His lips were prodded by gunmetal.

"Open your mouth."

Slowly, Seonghwa did. It slotted between his teeth, settled heavy on his tongue in that space that agitated his gag reflex.

"Suck on it."

When he swallowed spit back around it, he tasted grease, the tang of metal, the oils of fingerprints, his own and Hongjoong’s intermingled. He closed his mouth around it, bobbing his head to mock fellatio. He hoped to God that Hongjoong’s trigger finger stayed steady.

His cock twitched. A fault line between aroused and terrified, making the sinkhole in his stomach keep the feeling of lead weight sinking in suspended freefall. When he breathed out, it was a shaken, drooly sputter. He was getting hard.

“Good. Start touching yourself.”

Seonghwa pumped into his hand with nothing but that awful, dulled clink of metal against his teeth ringing in his ears. Hongjoong didn’t make any noise of his own, he didn’t even look pleased with Seonghwa’s humiliation, the bastard.

If not for the years of stress and crisis training, then it was the arousal that glossed his mind in a haze more interested in seeing how everything played out. Dully, he noticed Hongjoong’s boot coming into view. He looked down as it pressed against his hand and on his cock.

Seonghwa groaned out. It ground down and it hurt, but in that sense-sharpening pain that played off his arousal. It didn’t feel good, but it felt right. The gun was withdrawn, and considering Seonghwa hadn’t been made into a splatter on the couch, that was probably a good sign. It went pocketed, freeing both of Hongjoong’s hands so they could go for his throat.

Calm, because if he fought, it’d seal his fate. He kept pumping, albeit mindlessly, hindered by the boot pressing down both cock and hand as it ground down like putting out a cigarette in dirt. The thumbs pressed, his airway restricted first, like breathing through a straw. Lightheaded as he was, his sorry self bucked up into the boot on him hoping he’d get to cum while he was still conscious. Priorities.

Tightened further, his airway got cut off. Conscious thought was a luxury then, and he was afforded its last vestiges. But nothing, nothing could penetrate the laser-point focus of just how bad he wanted to cum under the grating tread of a boot.

Adrenaline took over with the blackout. He was stronger than Hongjoong, knocking the man back first with a sudden tackle, the hands that had been on his neck released him to protect himself as Seonghwa grabbed him and slammed him back hard against laminate.

Awareness returned in a trickle, first aware that he could breathe readily, though interrupted by coughs and the clearing of his roughed up throat. His arms knew what to do to keep him alive. They kept Hongjoong’s arms pinned, his body settling its weight on the thrashing other to keep him subdued.

He dropped a knee square into Hongjoong’s stomach, winding him, Hongjoong trying to fold in on himself to deal with the blow. It gave Seonghwa ample time to not only pull his own gun out of the other's pocket to toss out of reach, but also grab the holstered pistol.

He kept it trained on its owner. “One reason." He sounded like Death himself, a dry rasp quieted by the strain of his stressed lungs. The distant call of muscle memory meant his trigger finger was itching to pull. “One reason I shouldn’t end your life right here.”

This was his victory lap, satisfaction in the one up on Hongjoong for the first time that night. It was almost beautiful, seeing the man gritting his teeth and clutching his stomach well after Seonghwa delivered the blow. 

"If you do me in, you're a dead man."

“I'm dead either way."

“Only if I ever see your fucking face again.”

“Likewise.” Seonghwa held the gun, but stood up, letting Hongjoong sit upright. “You’re going to get the fuck out of my apartment. I’m going to keep this. We'll never see each other again."

Hongjoong raised both hands in surrender, giving a cooperative nod. Slow to stand, pain etched clearly on him. He didn't turn his back to Seonghwa when he made his paces out, only looked over his shoulder every third step to navigate toward the door. He fumbled with the lock, turned his head again briefly to get it open. He slammed the door shut as soon as he was out.

When Seonghwa breathed, it felt like hell. He approached the door and was quick to lock it. He finally lowered the gun, disarmed it and tossed its components to the ground. He sat on the couch, still naked, still half hard, a million thoughts racing through his mind, but the only one he managed to cling to long enough was that it was a pity he didn't manage to cum.

In the not so distant future, he'd have to right that. Hongjoong was right, after all. He never cared much for rules.

**Author's Note:**

> love a happy ending


End file.
